The Prologue

It's usually the case that a Welcome on Board prologue sets the scene. Indeed, in come circumstances, it may even serve to justify the premise for the trip that is about to be described.

Not in this case though, for most of sound mind would likely question the lucidity of anyone who would take a two-day trip to Europe for the sole purpose of spending just over an hour coming (part of the way) back on board a double-decker Dumbo look-alike.

Luckily, it's most unlikely that anyone of sound mind will be reading this and so, thankfully, any explanation of why this may have been a considered, well-judged, critically-assessed trip is almost certainly quite superfluous.

Instead, Top Gear-style logic prevails and, an hour after Air France issue their press release that the A380 will be undertaking Summer weekend flights between Paris and London, the bookings are confirmed through Orbitz (one bit of logic there - ticketing in the USA was cheaper than in the UK or France) and FatherContinentalclub is issued with instructions that he will be accompanying your narrator to Roissy for no apparent reason other than, in longhaul, widebody, upper-decked, business class comfort, to come back again.

I could hear his eyes rolling on the 'phone.

The Prologue

In a surprisingly well-trafficked side road of the World Wide Web can be found an unusually-specific, yet remarkably informative website, called FlyerTalk (FT).

Wander around its concourses of soaring airlines; its parks, beaches and boulevards of 5-star resorts; its forecourts of gleaming rental cars, and you'll find a country aerodrome, staffed and visited by brave, stiff upper-lipped souls, models of tradition and natty style who, underneath their cravates and epaulettes, are battle-scarred, authority-challenging and not a little mad.

They drink hard (mostly vintage champagne), queue with single-minded enthusiasm, complain yet more focussed vigour, and generally regard the sight of a particular fluttering flag above a foreign field to be the most heart-lifting sight imaginable. As long as it's attached to a vertical stabiliser, of course.

And when those flags are linearly abundant, as they are in a copiously-concreted corner of Hounslow, their stiff lips tremble with loyalty and love.

For they are the good folk of the British Airways Executive Club Board, and it was to them that the following was reported, mostly live, over recent days as their lately earthbound talisman's title, their mascot's moniker, their icon's identifier - has taken to the skies again.

Yes, the most toe-tinglingly tantalising flight number ever to have illuminated an airport departure board, anywhere in the World, is once again gracing a select few boarding cards each day.

So, ladies & gentlemen, please ensure that you seat backs and tray tables are upright, your personal items are stowed and that your seatbelts are securely fastened, as British Airways flight number BA001 bound for New York Kennedy Airport is now ready, once again, for departure.

Just in a slightly more leisurely fashion than it used to be....

The Prologue

Some trips demand military-grade planning. Some offer more enjoyment in the anticipation than they do in the actuality. Some require the political sensitivities of the UN Secretary General in attempting to achieve a consensus of acceptability amongst a group of travellers.

And some, though not many, launch themselves with such swiftness and simplicity that we find ourselves strapped in, doors to automatic and cabin crew seated for takeoff before we've finished typing in the credit card security code to lastnanosecond.com.

So it was, then, that with a former Dragon to the left and the faceless non-Star In A Reasonably-Priced Car to the right, a plan was hatched at Jamiroquai-round-the-Hammerhead-speed to flit the country for a swift Swiss Bank Holiday weekend. Target: Zurich, with a vault through London and the quietest one-year old in the World, Heathrow's initially troublesome but now tantrum-free Terminal 5.

The Toblerone Two: CC and the travelling companion (and trip suggester) known (or not) as ®CC.

The Prologue

So, what was this mega-mission, this burdensome five-week-long travel binge, this epic adventure of interminable planning? Simple: shepherd a familial flock of pensioner passengers, including an 86 year old long-haul virgin, and a next-door-neighbour, to the other side of the Earth and back, whilst en-route wheeling them, tanning them, floating them, feeding them, watering them, medicating them, amusing them, interesting them and guarding them from unlimited harm (mostly from each other).

I have returned wiser, thinner, shorter, balder and poorer. But at least I’m still in their wills. Travel broadens the mind? It very nearly did my head in.

Trip Reports: The Flights of The Geriatric Meerkats.

I have a plea for you: be gentle with me will you?

Please.

You see, this is my first time. I’ve read every how-to guide for 'Trip Reporting', by the very leaders in their field . So, if I make a right hash of this, then please blame me, not them. I am clearly not worthy of following their example. Apparently.



Here I am therefore, champagne in hand, backwards over Denver, CO, upper decked and watching the most beautiful sunset over the Western horizon of a spectacular trip. My left armrest is slightly rocky, the footrest has yet to be tested, and my Father is a row behind grumbling to my Mother about not being in First Class. However, the On Demand Audio and Video is currently pre-pre-menstrual (and therefore fully operational) and I’ve identified myself to the Cabin Services Director as a dab-hand at questionnaires. All is therefore well with the World and my loins are girded to give this trip report malarkey a whirl.

So, dear reader, sit back, relax and feel free to wholly ignore the index of reports, the titles of which will hopefully (or at least wishfully) make future searching easier. Collectively, however, they are to be known as ‘The Flights of The Geriatric Meerkats’ – the reason for which will become clear. If you care.


The Prologue


Not for nothing did St Frankie offer a prologue. It set the scene. Laid the foundations. Painted a picture. He was unique, a one-off, a narrative genius, a titan of the silver screen and awfully rich. I am none of these things and therefore this will be brief. My Mum was 60 in February. My Father’s Mum died a week later. My Mum’s Mum died two months to the day after that. Dad will be 65 in the Autumn.

I am sick of standing up in church delivering eulogies.

Mum nursed Dad’s Mum before having to deal with her own loss. She was knackered. Dad’s every waking moment was spent doing the ‘son’ things for his ‘Mam’. He was listless. They needed a holiday and have ‘big’ birthdays this year. I had points. Guess what happened next? From now on, if I am continentalclub then let’s just use CC. She will be MCC and he is FCC.